A Grand Party Indeed
by Shark on Land
Summary: "The grandest party one hosts is often the least expected," he chuckled with his customary grin. "After all, who awaits their own funeral?" Undertaker/OC
1. A Gunshot

**A/N: **Alright, how to begin? I recently began watching Kuroshitsuji, and the character of the Undertaker immediately captured my attention. Although, I need to make a small announcement real quick. In the series, the Undertaker mentions how Ciel once came to him for information before the Jack the Ripper incidents. This story will take place during that period of time. In other words, this takes place before the Jack the Ripper plotline. Thank you for your patience, and please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, nor anything else associated with it. However, I do own my imagination.

* * *

Lightning flashed across the weather-torn sky as the people of London scurried to their destinations. Watching them was a man with an eerie grin, peering from his window. Although his silver hair covered his eyes, the man was perfectly able to sense the beings moving to and fro outside his shop. "Look at them," he chuckled to himself, his grin growing wider. "I wonder what good jokes _they_ know." It had been quite a while since the Earl of Phantomhive had made his last visit, so the Undertaker knew that it would be some time before he next had a good laugh. After all, the people who usually came into his shop were deceased, and it was his job to pretty them up before they went to their grand party. And _that_ was hardly any fun.

His chuckle slowly increasing in volume, Undertaker turned to his latest client who laid peacefully in the coffin he had measured just for her. "Come now," he said, making his way towards her. "It's a beautiful day for a celebration, and you're lazing about! Whatever will your guests think? Ah well, you're quite old, so perhaps they shall allow you to nap for a bit." Fondly patting the old woman's cheek, he began to make his way toward the shelves to fetch himself a treat whilst he waited for the woman's family to come and get her.

It was when he had his hand halfway through the cookie jar that he suddenly heard a gunshot from the alley near his shop. A heavy set of footsteps could then be heard dashing away from the scene that no one else seemed to have witnessed, let alone heard. His grin fading ever so slightly, Undertaker made his way toward the door. Turning back to his client, he said cheerfully, "Not to worry, my dear! I shall return in but a few moments! Please sit comfortably until I return!" Heaving the door open, despite its squeaks of protest, Undertaker exited the shop and proceeded to make his way toward the source of the earlier commotion.

It was not unusual for such events to take place in the alleys of London; however, it was strange for it to happen in the middle of the day, regardless of the weather. Perhaps something was afoot? _'Most unlikely,'_ he thought. It was probably just a slight squabble that had managed to get out of hand. He shouldn't be taking it so seriously, but business would most definitely not bode well if he kept half-rotting corpses behind his morgue. However… assuming that the body had been left behind… and there was presumably no one who had witnessed the murder… Perhaps this could be his chance to see more of those lovely innards! Ah, it had been far too long since his last dissection!

Practically skipping through the alley, Undertaker came screeching to a halt as he finally came across the victim of the scuffle. To his utmost surprise, it was not the troublesome lad he had been expecting, but rather, a young woman. Her hair, whatever color it once was, was now stained red by her blood, and her clothing suggested that she was lower class. Crouching down in front of her, Undertaker eyed the wound that the bullet had left. Poking her cheek with a long fingernail, his grin grew even wider as she gave a slight groan. Although he may have lost his chance for an autopsy this time around, he seemed to have gained yet another guest. Picking her up so that her wound would not be irritated, he began to carry her into his morgue. There was always room for another guest in his shop.

And who knows? Perhaps she knew some good laughs?


	2. A Grin

**A/N: **Wow, it never really struck me before on how hard it is to write the Undertaker's character correctly. Yeesh, that guy gave me a challenge. Anywho, thanks to all who reviewed and faved! Also, thanks for the encouragement on the last chapter! Please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, nor anything else associated with it.

* * *

Carrying the girl into his humble shop, Undertaker set her on top of one of the spare coffins lying around. He then proceeded to rush about the area as he searched for some type of bandage to staunch the bleeding. Quickly grabbing some linen used to create the lining for his coffins, he firmly pressed it against the girl's wound. He couldn't have his newest guest dying so quickly, now could he? Although he had to admit, whoever had decided to shoot her had been a positively horrible shot. Rather than piercing the heart, or any other vital organs for that matter, the attempted murderer had shot her in the shoulder instead. Tapping a long, black nail on the coffin, Undertaker simply continued to grin as he waited for his guest to wake up.

Suddenly, the door to his shop opened with an ominous creak as a group of men entered with heavy steps and heavy hearts. "Excuse me sir," a rather wiry young man murmured. "I've come for…" However, his sentence was left open-ended as his mouth dropped open at the scene before him.

"Ah yes. Your mother, correct? She's been absolutely wonderful, I say! An unrivaled sense of humor~!" he grinned as he gestured towards the aforementioned woman. "Although, I believe that it is high time that she return home. It has been an absolute pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen!"

"Er… Yes, well… Likewise, sir," the man, who was obviously the deceased woman's son, replied uneasily. The other men behind him lifted the coffin onto their shoulders and exited the shop. "Er, if I may ask… that young woman… is she quite alright?"

"Oh yes! But that's nothing that you need worry about! Your mother is waiting for you, is she not? Best not keep her waiting."

"O-of course, sir," the son stuttered as he finally exited the shop. "Good d-day."

Hearing the door give another dying screech as it closed, Undertaker shook his head slightly. "It appears humor does not run in the family." Turning towards his guest, Undertaker gave a slight frown when he saw that she was still unconscious. "That's right," he murmured. "We'd best be taking that bullet out." Taking care to avoid contact with her wound, he carried her to an overstuffed couch in the shop's back room. The room's sole source of light, a spindly candelabra hanging from the ceiling, revealed two other doors that led to the rooms where Undertaker resided. On the wall behind the couch, shelves of books resided on the wall, while a desk was located on the opposite side of the room.

Walking with a calm gait about the room, Undertaker took a cobweb-covered whiskey bottle down from a shelf before turning back to his guest. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he pushed away the grimy dress that covered the wound. Applying some of the alcohol to the bullet wound, he gave a small "tsk" of dismay at the man's aim. That had probably been the first time the lad had ever fired a gun in his life, judging from the poor accuracy. _'Murderers these days,'_ he thought dejectedly. However, now that the thought struck him… what had she done to warrant such a thing in the first place?

"What, indeed?" Undertaker murmured to himself. Removing a small knife from underneath his shawl, he then turned his grin towards his patient. Then, without any further ado, he thrust his blade into her shoulder and began digging for the bullet. Although she was unconscious, the girl's face contorted into an expression of agonizing pain. He knew this to be an excruciating process, and it was crucial that the offending object be removed before she awoke from the pain. In any case, a calm reaction could not be expected when one woke to find a stranger sticking a knife into one's shoulder. Luckily, the bullet had not managed to pierce the skin too deeply, and was removed in but a few moments. Cleaning up bodies was his specialty, after all.

Placing the gore-covered bullet on the floor besides him, Undertaker began to wrap the woman's shoulder with strips of linen. As he was preoccupied with properly bandaging her, he began humming a random tune underneath his breath. "I wonder what your name is~"

"…Astrid…," the woman hoarsely replied.

"Ah, and how long have you been awake, Astrid?" Undertaker grinned, peering down at her.

"…Not long, considering that someone just stuck a knife in my arm."

"My sincere apologies," he chuckled mirthfully. "Although I insist that it was necessary in order for your wound to heal."

"And _why_ did you help me?" she inquired, locking her blue-green eyes with his… bangs.

"Hm~ Why indeed?" he said as he put an unnecessary amount of pressure on the bullet wound.

Giving a slight yelp, Astrid muttered, "If you're not going to tell me that, then why don't you give me your name instead?"

"My name~?" he repeated, his grin only growing wider. "You can simply call me 'Undertaker'."

"Undertaker, eh? So let me guess, I'm in a—"

"A morgue, yes that's correct~. But not to worry, all the other guests are quite civil towards each other. I doubt they will give you any trouble." Tying a knot on the last slip of cloth, Undertaker patted her shoulder gently. "There. All finished."

Gingerly sitting up from her place on the couch, Astrid gave a small sigh. "I suppose that you'll want some recompense. How much do I owe you, Undertaker?"

"Me~? Don't be silly~! What would I do with currency anyhow?" Drawing closer to her until their faces were barely an inch apart, he murmured, "No, what I really want from you is…

"...Yes?"

"A good laugh~! That's what I need! You know, they say that laughter's the best medicine!"

"You want a joke? Er… okay… just give me a few seconds…"

It was a solid five minutes later that Astrid finally came to a conclusion. "I got nothing," she sighed.

"Not to worry. Just be sure to come to me when you think of something~."

"Of course." Forcing herself up from the couch, Astrid began to make her way towards the front of the shop when Undertaker's voice suddenly rang out through the room.

"By all means, stay as long as you like. That wound of yours is not going to heal all that quickly you know."

"… What makes you think I will?"

His Cheshire grin growing ever wider, Undertaker replied, "Do you even have a place to go back to?"

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, I have no idea about how to properly remove a bullet. Thank you, Internet resources!


	3. A Biscuit

**A/N:** And here's the third chapter! Also referred to as chapter number three! Or the chapter of the third number! Any other names I'm forgetting? No? Hope not. And now for a completely different subject. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved, or added this story to their alert list! You guys are amazing! And on another note, if Yana Toboso can say that chainsaws and television existed in the 19th century, then I can say that frilly, pink aprons did too. Don't worry, it'll all make sense later. Hopefully. Anywho, please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, nor anything else associated with it.

* * *

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Would a woman with a home be wandering alleys in such weather?" As if to punctuate Undertaker's point, lightning flashed across the rooms of the morgue, illuminating every feature. "I honestly doubt so. Or do you have business suiting the darkness of an alley?" he wondered aloud, sitting on the floor in front of her. Lacing his fingers together, he chuckled lightly at the venomous look Astrid was shooting him. "I was merely joking~. Do you give that look to everyone who tries to make you laugh?" No response. "I see. Then would at least mind telling me what you did to deserve that wound?"

"And why would you want to know?" Astrid muttered bitterly. "For all I know, you're just a stranger off the streets who wants some company."

Chuckling even harder now, Undertaker peered at her through his bangs to get a good look at her. "A stranger, eh? Most likely. But for now, I am the stranger that saved your life just now. And you wouldn't mind giving said stranger a few answers to his questions, would you~?"

Giving an exasperated sigh, Astrid said, "What do you want to know?"

His grin widening, Undertaker pressed one long nail to his chin in thought. "Let's start with... who the one that shot you, shall we~?"

Sinking into the overstuffed couch, Astrid looked down at the ground as she began to speak. "I'm not exactly sure who it was. I went into the alley to avoid getting wet, and suddenly I could hear somebody following me." A large cracking sound suddenly filling the room, Astrid snapped her head up only to see Undertaker noisily eating what looked like a bone-shaped biscuit.

"Don't mind me," he said with half of a biscuit hanging out of his mouth. "By all means, continue. Unless… you want one?" he asked, offering the biscuit-filled urn towards his guest.

"… Thanks," she replied, gazing at the treat warily.

"They don't bite, you know," Undertaker chortled. Such a strange one, this girl. Usually his guests (his live ones, of course) were too busy being afraid of him to engage in any sort of interesting conversation. This one, however, seemed to have been worth the effort of saving.

Taking a cautious bite out of the treat, Astrid's eyes suddenly lit up at the taste. "Not bad."

"Help yourself," he grinned. Grabbing a handful of the biscuits himself, he passed the urn over to her this time. Shoving a few more of the treats into her mouth, Astrid somehow managed to swallow them all in one gulp.

"Who makes these?" she questioned.

"I do~" he replied, with what seemed to be an air of pride.

Suddenly, an unbidden image of Undertaker standing by an oven in a frilly, pink apron came to mind. Guffawing loudly, it took everything she had not to spew the remainder of the biscuits out of her mouth.

"What is it?"

"Ah, nothing," she said quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Back to the story—"

"It's not a joke, is it?"

"Er… What?"

"You're not keeping a good joke from me, are you?" Undertaker said with a slight pout.

"Er... No?"

"Then let's continue, shall we?" he replied, gesturing towards her with his hand.

"Yes, well, after I heard somebody following me, I tried to start running away. But it seems that he had a weapon, and well… here I am."

"Do you know of anyone who might bear... say, a grudge against you?"

"… Not that I know of," Astrid murmured thoughtfully. Potential murderers didn't exactly fill the bulk of her memory.

"Regardless, as I said before, you are quite welcome here," Undertaker said.

"… Are you sure?" she asked in a suddenly timid tone.

"Ah, so is Milady actually considering taking up residence here~?" he smirked, supporting his chin with his laced fingers. "I consider myself deeply honored."

"I hope you realize that this is just until I get everything sorted out," she said. "This isn't going to be a permanent plan or anything."

"Of course~" Undertaker replied with a slight drawl. Standing up from his seat on the floor, he brushed his robes off before entering one of the other doors in the room. "Nevertheless, it is now my responsibility to see that you are well taken care of now."

"I can take care of myself, you know," Astrid scoffed. She could hear strange shuffling noises coming from the room now. What the hell was he doing in there anyway?

Peering from around the side of the door, Undertaker wagged a pale finger in her direction. "And the bullet wound you sport clearly exhibits that quality."

"That's not what—"

"A-ha! Found it!" Undertaker exclaimed. As he walked out of the room, Astrid watched curiously as he didn't return to his previous spot, but rather went back towards the front of the shop. Following him, Astrid could now see that he was bent over another one of his coffins. "There," he said. "All better now."

Attempting to look over his shoulder, Astrid questioned, "What is it?"

"Ah, nothing. This was just bothering me, is all. Doesn't he look better now?" Undertaker asked, motioning towards the body. To be perfectly honest, it seemed as if all Undertaker had done was drape a rather fine cloth over the man's lower body. However, as she looked closer, Astrid saw that the cloth actually drew attention away from the fact that the lower half of the man's arm was missing.

"Much."

"I'm glad that you approve," he grinned.


	4. A Book

**A/N:** Annnd here's another chapter! Thanks for you patience! Also, thanks to everybody that reviewed! Now, please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, nor anything else associated with it.

* * *

"So this is how everyday goes?" Astrid sighed, lying on top of one of Undertaker's coffins. The storm had settled a while ago, and now the crimson colors of the sun filled the sky as the day reached completion.

"For the most part~" Undertaker replied brightly as he tended to another one of his "guests". Humming a slight tune underneath his breath, Undertaker gave a small smirk as he heard Astrid heave a large sigh from across the room. Chuckling, he said, "Please know that you are free to look around and see if something amuses you."

"Don't mind if I do," Astrid responded, jumping up from the coffin's lid. Walking towards the back room, she immediately began making her way towards the shelves of books spanning the entire wall. Although the books most likely contained records of Undertaker's previous customers, Astrid felt an urge to skim through at least _some_ of them. At least then she wouldn't be as bored as she was now. Looking at the volumes' spines, she murmured the titles underneath her breath. One title in particular suddenly caught her eye. "Death God's Play?" she muttered in confusion. Undertaker's head suddenly snapped up at the mention of the tome. Taking the book down from the shelf, Astrid was about to open it when she felt a sudden movement behind her.

"I'm afraid that I must ask you not to touch the books," Undertaker murmured darkly as he suddenly appeared before her. Snatching the book from her hands, he brusquely put the volume back onto the shelf. He would have to be sure to return it fairly soon, before any other potential incidents could occur. Shifting his gaze to Astrid, he suddenly felt a sliver of guilt at her startled expression. He _had_ come across as rather harsh, hadn't he? "However, if you so desire to find something to read, I'm sure we could arrange a trip somewhere to find you some books." When no answer was given, Undertaker added, "Not many people know how to read these days. I wonder... who was the one that taught you~?" Laughing softly to himself, he walked towards the front of the shop.

"And what do you mean by that?" Astrid asked sharply.

A grin spreading across his face, Undertaker answered, "Simply that you are not the average gutter rat scavenged from the back of an alley~."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Does it~?" he murmured thoughtfully. "That's a shame. I suppose that means that you will have to figure it out for yourself."

Muttering a few choice words underneath her breath, Astrid slumped onto the couch. That man seemed to switch emotions faster than a child. Menacing one moment, only to grin at some joke the next. Although, she had to admit, it was refreshing from the normal busybody behavior shared by the majority of London's population. This man actually seemed to put some thought into his emotions. Well... most of the time.

Suddenly feeling a rather long nail tap her on the shoulder, Astrid turned to see her host peering down at her with that strange grin of his. "I assume that you are quite tired by now." Gesturing towards one of the two doors that connected to the record room, he said, "Feel free to take some sleep… while you can~."

"Well, that sounded rather menacing," she deadpanned.

"What do you expect? Without a doubt, that wound will give you trouble tonight," he shrugged. "Regardless, the washroom is to the door on the left, and the bedroom is to the door on the right."

"… Thank you," she murmured, still slightly unable to comprehend that a stranger was showing her such kindness. "But where will you sleep?"

"I believe that the couch will suit me just fine," he grinned. "And if it doesn't, then I always have a spare coffin or two~."

Suppressing a laugh at his response, Astrid flashed a wide smile at him. "Yes, there's always that."

"During your stay here, please know that you are free to select one at any time yourself."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Chortling slightly, he said with a smirk, "If you need me, I shall be working for a while longer." Lighting a candelabrum, he then returned to his guests in the front of the shop.

Staring after him for a while, Astrid gazed at his long, tangled mane of hair. The question of when he last brushed it randomly passed through her mind. Honestly though, it looked as if he hadn't bothered to brush his hair in years. Shaking the trivial thoughts out of her mind, Astrid began to walk towards the bedchamber Undertaker had pointed out to her. After all, it had been a long enough day. Not bothering to take in her surroundings as she entered her host's room, Astrid stumbled toward the form of a bed before immediately collapsing on it. And, within moments, she had fallen deep into sleep.

An hour had not even passed when the door to the room slowly opened with an eerie creak. The soft clacking of heels echoed across the room as a figure holding a small candelabrum approached Astrid. The soft glow of the candles illuminated the figure's leering grin as he gazed down at his guest.

"Just who _are_ you, Astrid?" Undertaker chuckled.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I'm trying to make a decision concerning this story, and I would like to hear everybody's opinion on the matter. What do you think? Would you rather have longer chapters (probably between 1,500 to 3,000 words) but a longer time between updates? Or do you want me to keep the length (about 1,000 to 1,500 words) and time (about once a week) between updates the same? I'll base my decision on the answers I receive as well as how the plot of this story turns out. Thanks again for reading!

And remember, reviews convince a certain Shinigami not to write down your name in a Death Note as some type of plot twist.


	5. A Perusal

**A/N: **Whoo, it's been a while. Not a long while, but still, a while. Quick notice though, I've ever so _slightly_ changed the first two chapters. Not any major changes, but just one or two small details. Just wanted to give everybody a head's up. Thanks to everyone that reviewed, faved, or put this story on their alert list! Also, huge thanks to those who responded to my question from last time. Looks like everybody wanted the quick updates! I'll do my best to keep the chapters coming! Now, please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, nor anything else associated with it.

* * *

As Undertaker predicted, it was only a small amount of time before the wound began troubling Astrid. Unfortunately, that meant that the pain had awakened her at some ungodly hour, effectively putting her in a bad mood. The first few minutes were spent attempting to fall back asleep. However it soon became pretty obvious that she wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon. With an exasperated sigh, Astrid flicked her eyes open and sat up from the bed. The sheer darkness of the room prevented her from glimpsing even the door, and so, she found herself scrambling around in the dark for the doorknob.

At the moment she didn't know which to be more frustrated at. Whether it was her current state of helplessness, or the fact that she had apparently been too tired to even remove her shoes before falling asleep. For the love of the Queen, she had never been _that_ tired before. While she was grumbling to herself, her already tender arm suddenly grazed the wall. Predictably, Astrid let a few colorful words shoot out of her mouth as she clutched her throbbing arm. Moving more carefully across the room, she was eventually able to locate the door to the room. _'How the hell does that man manage without any lights in here?'_ she thought wearily. _'Maybe he's been living here for so long that his eyes have gotten accustomed to the dark… or maybe it's that I'm just clumsy_._ That's _a little_ more likely, don't you think?'_

Bracing her ears for the door to give an ear-splitting squeak, Astrid heaved the door open. However, as if to spite her, the infernal door remained silent for once. Stomping out of the bedroom and into the record room, she was suddenly greeted with the sight of gray strands of hair draped over the edge of the couch as well as the sound of light breathing. From the way that his entire person from his hair to his clothes was in disarray, she could guess that he had been sleeping for quite a while. He had not even bothered to change out of his clothes either, she noticed with a smirk. Even his hat was still on. Maybe that was the only outfit he owned? Then again, she was more taken aback by the fact that he actually slept. For some reason, the notion of him sleeping seemed more surprising than it probably should be. As Astrid began to walk around the couch, the spine of a certain book suddenly caught her eye. It was, in fact, the very same book that Undertaker had snatched from her earlier that day. For some reason, Undertaker had seemed particularly guarded when she had selected that book. However, now that she noticed, almost all of the books on the shelf spread across the wall bore similar titles.

Why had Undertaker seemed so determined not to let her look in the book? Was he hiding something inside it? But what kind of secrets could a funeral director have anyway? Astrid gave a small shudder as she realized the varying answers to that particular question. Any sensible woman would be more cautious around a man they just met, let alone one that offered them a place to stay for an unspecified amount of time.

Staring at Undertaker from over the couch, Astrid suddenly froze as he began to shift from his place on the couch. Instinct demanded that she find a place to hide before he woke up, but she remained standing where she was. Luckily for her, Undertaker only seemed to be moving in his sleep and continued to mutter incoherent babblings underneath his breath. During that space of time, Astrid didn't even dare to breathe. Watching him warily, she soon determined that he was still sleeping deeply. Then, before her courage could fail her, she snatched the book from the shelf and proceeded to open it from where she stood.

Astrid didn't know what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't the sudden flash of light that erupted from the book's core. Glimpses of a dark-haired man flashed before her eyes. And in an instant, it became terribly clear that the images were coming in a specific order. It was almost as if she were observing the entirety of the man's life.

Dropping the book to the floor in shock, it closed upon impact, making the images flashing before her eyes fade away. Crumpling to the floor, Astrid felt waves of confusion, as well as another emotion she couldn't identify, wrack her body repeatedly. _What_ was that? Who was that man? How had Undertaker even _discovered_ that book?

Suddenly, the sound of clacking heels could be heard from the foot of the couch. As the sound came closer and closer, Astrid began to hyperventilate from the chock and the sense of foreboding that grew stronger with each step she heard. Eventually, the figure paused beside her body that lay sprawled on the floor. Crouching down, he gave a low, long whistle. "You certainly didn't see that one coming, did you~?" he murmured, bright eyes gleaming.

However, Astrid had long since fainted.

* * *

Something was prodding her side… something rather sharp. What was it? Couldn't they tell that she was resting? It was getting uncomfortable now. Honestly, what were they thinking? Shifting slightly from where she laid, Astrid noticed with some satisfaction that that seemed to have scared that incessant jabbing away. That is, until it began again. Cracking her eyes open, she could only see a blurry outline in front of her. Muttering incoherent words to herself, she rubbed her eyes only to scream out in shock.

Cackling manically to himself, Undertaker withdrew his long, black nail away from her side as she shot up from her spot on the bed. "You certainly took your time waking up this morning~" he chuckled gleefully. "And here I was, thinking that you would be up early on this fine day." Prancing to the front of the store, Undertaker left Astrid to calm her pounding heart. At that particular moment, she had half a mind to give him a beating he wouldn't soon forget. However, her growling stomach dissuaded her from doing so.

As she followed Undertaker out of the room, Astrid began to vaguely wonder how she happened back on the bed. From what she recalled, she had been wandering around the back room, about to pick up one of the books when…

...When _what_ happened?

It was as if her memory suddenly drew a blank at that moment in time. Perhaps the entire event had been a dream? Looking back though, hadn't she hit her injured shoulder against the wall? The pain had seemed so _real_ then. But then again, she had had stronger dreams before.

What was she thinking anyway? Her "dream" was beginning to seem supernatural, which was something Undertaker (or anything he had to do with) was _not_. And after all, she was just dealing with the average mortician, right?


	6. A Suspicion

**A/N:** Whew, school's done for the year! Finally! Anywho, I would like to blame the lateness of this chapter on those gosh-darn exams. So if you feel the need to maul something with your weapon of choice, please don't look at me. Anywho, wow! Thanks to everybody that's been reading this fic! And with that, please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, nor anything else associated with it. Whoop-de-doo.

* * *

"Don't you have anything else to eat besides those biscuits?" Astrid muttered in irritation.

"You _really_ aren't a morning person, are you~?" Undertaker chuckled, taking one of the said biscuits out of its urn. Walking towards the front of the shop, he began busying himself with the preparation of the bodies before him. Quite the number of corpses had been deposited while his young guest had overslept. It was not uncommon behavior. After all, most people did not wish to draw out their time spent in his lovely morgue.

"I just don't appreciate being prodded awake in the morning," she grumbled.

"My, my, my. Then how are you usually woken?" he said softly, more to himself than to her. "A normal, working-class girl in a normal, working-class family should be accustomed to such early hours." What's more, an average girl would not have had the courage nor audacity to shift through his things in the middle of the night. Who exactly was this woman pretending to be?

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing~! Now, would you be a dear, and bring that over to me?" he said, pointing to a pair of surgical scissors lying on a nearby coffin. Carefully handing the sharper-than-expected blades to her host while attempting to sneak a peek at the body he was currently working on.

Eventually, heaving a sigh, Astrid stood up from the coffin acting as a chair and opened the door leading out of the shop.

"Wherever are you going now? Your arm is still in rather shabby condition, mind you."

"I'm just going to buy an actual breakfast, is all. I'll be back soon enough."

"Very well~. Just remember, if you happen to see any corpses lying about, be sure to bring them here~" he grinned, continuing to tend to his guests. Rolling her eyes at his comment, Astrid made her way out of the shop. Honestly, she had only known him for a day at best, but his strange remarks seemed to becoming customary.

As the door swung closed, Undertaker absentmindedly began to finger the charms that hung around his waist. It wouldn't do for her to stumble upon the records again. It was expressly prohibited that mortals be forbidden to look into the Death Records. Fortunately for Astrid, Undertaker was able to suppress that particular memory without resorting to extreme means. But for how long? Memory suppression was a difficult task that required constant attention. So naturally, it would only be a matter of time before she remembered. "Perhaps it is time that I run a few of my own errands as well…" he murmured to himself.

* * *

It was only as she walked into the streets of London that Astrid realized she had slept away most of the morning. The midday crowd was thick with shoppers and pickpockets alike, just as there was every other day. Simply being caught up in the hustle and bustle of London made it difficult to even recall that she had nearly died the day before. But, whatever way she looked at it, the biggest concern she had now was finding a suitable breakfast for that morning… whatever was left of it, that is. Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she came across a cart laden with various breads and pastries. Luckily for her, the single man managing it just happened to be busy enough that he didn't notice that one of his rolls had made a speedy getaway.

Enjoying her meal as she continued to wander the streets, Astrid thought back to what she and the Undertaker had discussed the previous night. Her attempted murderer was more than likely still in London, and she found it frustrating that she hadn't the slightest clue of his identity. The bullet had, literally, been a shot in the dark. At least it had been Undertaker that had found her, rather than the murderer himself checking to make certain he hadn't missed his target. Which brought her to another matter.

Undertaker.

Who was he? For all she knew, _he_ could have been her the one that shot her. But then again, for all his eccentricity, she couldn't detect a single malevolent intention from him. After all, he was the one that patched her up in the first place. What would be the point in killing her if he was planning on healing her? However, there was something else about Undertaker that bothered Astrid.

What happened last night? Why was there that blank in her memory from the night before? It wasn't a blank per say, but she could distinctly feel her mind begin to move away from the subject whenever she tried thinking of it. But perhaps she was just imagining things… or maybe she wasn't. From the little that she could recall, it had something to do with Undertaker's books. Was it something in there that made her forget? Or was it perhaps some_one_ who made her forget?

Or maybe those biscuits had made her as loony as Undertaker?

Sighing as she finished her roll, Astrid rolled her eyes at that particular thought. Anyhow, whatever the case may be, she was stuck with Undertaker until her shoulder healed. It wasn't like she had any other place to return to anyway. She was a pickpocket after all. And a pickpocket is one who lives on the more flighty side of life. Besides, it wasn't as if she would be having any sort of job change in the foreseeable future. Giving a soft sigh, Astrid decided that it was about time that she returned to the Undertaker's shop. As she began walking toward that general direction, a man suddenly bumped into her. Sliding her hand into his pocket as he gave a murmured apology without slowing his stride, Astrid grinned as she strolled away with the man's wallet. Peeking inside, she saw that it contained about ten pounds. Not bad at all.

Sticking the wallet in her pocket rather than dropping it on the ground as per usual, she turned into the alley where Undertaker kept his shop. Locating it fairly quickly, she was about to open the door when she felt an eerie presence behind her, making the very hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Swiveling around, she saw that there was no one else in the alley beside herself. Eyeing her surroundings warily as she placed her hand on the doorknob, Astrid hurriedly entered the building, unaware of the pair of eyes that watched her.

* * *

**A/N:** Alright, the next chapter should be coming out sometime next week. Why not sooner? Because I've devoted so much time to this fic, that I've neglected my other three stories. Yeah, working on four fics at once wasn't exactly my brightest idea. But not to worry! This fic shall continue to be updated regularly!

Thanks for reading!


	7. A Corpse

**A/N: **Sorry for the hold-up! Here's the next chapter!

_Disclaimer:_ Kuroshitsuji (which I still can't pronounce), its characters, plot, and other whatnot does not belong to me. Bet you didn't see that one coming.

* * *

"Ah! Welcome back~! You didn't take very long at all," Undertaker grinned as he took yet another book down from its shelf. "How was your outing?"

Plopping herself on one of the coffins, she answered, "Nothing out of the ordinary, if that's what you were expecting."

Chuckling at her response, he said, "Not at all. Now, are you still adverse to my biscuits~?"

"Not at the moment, I guess," she smirked. "So what have you been doing?"

"This and that," he vaguely replied as he walked over to a cart holding various surgical tools and beakers (some of which holding tea for whatever reason). Emptying the cart of its contents, Undertaker rolled it over to the stack of books.

"What are you doing with all those?" Astrid questioned.

"Ah, these? I've been meaning to return them for quite some time now… They're overdue, you know."

"I never would have guessed," she muttered as she began to lightly stretch her wounded arm. The pain was starting to steadily ebb away, and she was quite thankful for that. It was hard to believe that she had come to meet the Undertaker only yesterday. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. But many questions continued to evade her. Who had tried to shoot her? Was there even a reason for it? Did they know that she was still alive? Would they attempt to murder her again? Shaking her head in an effort to cease those particular thoughts, Astrid decided that it was no good to think of such things now. _'If anything, this is the safest place to hide. What's a better place for a supposed corpse to hide than with a mortician? And who would-' _

"Interesting… quite intriguing…" Undertaker murmured as he looked down at one of his "guests", as he liked to call them.

Unable to ignore his mutterings that were steadily increasing in volume, Astrid called out, "What's so interesting?"

"Come see if you can tell me," he said as he sipped at a beaker of tea.

Standing beside Undertaker, Astrid bent down to take a look at the corpse. What met her eyes was unlike anything she had seen before. The pale, bloated head had been stitched back onto the body with thick, black thread, and every inch of the torso was scarred with burns and rashes. Also, as if the murderer hadn't been satisfied enough, each and every limb was missing, obviously hacked off by an amateur hand. One would eventually be able to discern that this had once been (the mutilations made it difficult to determine the gender) a woman. Something was rising at a horrible speed within Astrid.

"There's a basin over there should you feel the need to use it," Undertaker said, pointing a black talon in its direction. Without further prompting, Astrid practically ran toward the basin before retching her guts into the bowl. She struggled to erase the macabre image from her mind, but it continued to reappear before her eyes.

She had no idea of how long she had remained on her knees, leaning over the basin. It seemed like hours had passed, when she knew it had most likely only been minutes. Eventually, she heard the familiar click of heels approaching her place on the floor. A beaker of tea was suddenly placed in her hands. The glass was warm and tangible, helping to bring her out of her current state of shock. Murmuring a word of thanks, Astrid gulped down as much as she could without it burning her throat.

"Her name was Cora Henrietta Crippen," Undertaker explained, taking a seat next to Astrid. "Also known as Belle Elmore. The dear Scotland Yard has only recently managed to piece her together."

"Do they know who… did it?"

"They suspect the husband, naturally."

"Naturally?"

"Dr. Haweley Crippen. The two of them never had much of relationship. She had many affairs, as well as he. Given the circumstances, there could be many reasons to suspect him as the murderer."

"But you doubt it." She said it as a statement, not a question.

Turning his head toward her, Undertaker gifted her with a more-eerie-than-usual grin. "Perhaps. We shall have to wait and see how this unfolds. The suspect has been apprehended and is currently awaiting trial. This will be interesting indeed."

"… Do you… think this could be related to the person who tried to kill me?"

"It is possible," he said, looking at her from the corner of his eye. And for a brief instant, Astrid could have sworn she saw a yellow-green gleam from beneath that curtain of hair. "But for now, I must finish tending to our dear Mrs. Crippen," he said, standing from his seat on the floor. "I should be done in a few moments."

"… Yes." Standing up herself, Astrid decided to throw out the contents of the basin. Dumping it into the sewer outside the shop, she then proceeded to clean it as best as she could. It was the least she could do, after all.

Once that had been completed, she seated herself on the couch in the record room. Fingering the wallet that she had snatched earlier, Astrid continued to wonder about the Crippens. If the Doctor was indeed the murderer, what was his intention? Getting rid of his wife? By the sounds of what Undertaker had told her, it sounded like neither had honestly cared about what the other was doing. Was it money perhaps? Did he think that he was going to get something of monetary value upon her death? No, if the woman had been wealthy, she would have been buried with at least some type of jewelry on her person. It was obvious, even now as she lay in her coffin, that she had died a poor woman.

"Undertaker?"

"Hm~?"

"What _was_ your reasoning for doubting Dr. Crippen as the murderer?"

"Oh, you mean I didn't tell you? I'm terribly sorry. You see, the Yard has the wrong evidence."

* * *

**A/N:** DUN DUN DUUUUUNN! And thus, we're both stuck with a cliffhanger. Anywho, here's a quick heads up.

Both Dr. Haweley Crippen and Cora Crippen are actual people. I did some research, and I stumbled on this case that happened to take place in Victorian England. However, I tweaked a few facts so that it could fit more into the story.


	8. A Clue

**A/N: **Thanks for your patience everybody! And I've repeatedly been forgetting to do this, but I would like to sincerely thank sSophisticateds for encouraging me to continue this story when it was still in its beginning stages. And thank you to everybody else as well for your support! And without any further ado, please enjoy this next chapter!

_Disclaimer:_ Alright, you know the drill. Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, and other whatnot do not belong to me.

* * *

"What do you mean 'the wrong evidence'?"

"Precisely that," Undertaker said, taking his attention away from tending to Mrs. Crippen's body. "You see, the Yard isn't as thorough as they would like to think~." Smirking at Astrid's confused expression, he gave a small chuckle as he motioned for her to come closer to the casket. "Do you think you can take another look at our dear guest~? Perhaps then, you'll see what I mean."

Without sparing a moment to regret her decision, Astrid strode up to the coffin and approached the corpse within it. Thankfully, she was able to hold in her lunch this time around. It had most likely been the shock that shook her the previous time, but the sight was gruesome nonetheless. "So," Undertaker said, a wide grin set on his face. "Anything worth noticing~?"

Sitting on her knees so as to get a better view of Mrs. Crippen, Astrid scrutinized the remainders of the corpse. Or rather, what was left. After the initial disgust had faded away, Astrid was able to comprehend the body's state somewhat better. The head had been clearly thrown into a river of sorts, as one could see from its bloated state. As for the torso, it looked somewhat fresher than the head.

"The torso was found buried in the doctor's cellar," Undertaker said, seeing her pay particular attention toward the section of the body where the head was stitched to the upper body.

"... Then this doesn't make any sense," she murmured, narrowing her eyes at the body.

"Oh~? And why would that be?" he asked, suddenly taking the biscuit urn out from behind his back. Popping one of said biscuits into his mouth, he seemed to be waiting eagerly for Astrid to defend her argument.

"Why would Dr. Crippen go to such lengths to make sure her head and limbs weren't found, but then simply bury the rest of her body? It was almost as if he suddenly panicked and stuffed her body in the closest place he could think of," she said, creasing her brow in thought. Looking toward Undertaker to ask what his opinion was, she was slightly annoyed to find him with a grin spread across his face. He looked like a little boy opening his presents at Christmas. Honestly, couldn't he ever act seriously? They were discussing murder, not some sort of game. Then again, both topics were probably on the same level for him.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. "Undertaker."

"Hm~?"

"Did Dr. Crippen have any accomplices?"

His grin growing ever wider at that statement, Undertaker bit the biscuit hanging out of his mouth in half. "And here is where the entertainment begins."

"If there is one thing you should know, it is that our dear Dr. Crippen was not a criminal before this event. True, he was not one of the finest members of society, but he was not one to commit crimes. Of course, as I have mentioned beforehand, he and his wife did not get along well, and neither of them honestly cared. However, the Scotland Yard has chosen to ignore this aspect, and have declared that jealousy was his incentive for the murder. But the question remains. How did a man who had never killed a man in his life, come to know how to properly dispose of at least part of the victim's body?

"Another thing, Astrid, that is crucial to this case is that one must be aware of the beauty to be found in death." Chuckling at her bewildered expression, he raised a long nail as if to point out his position in this discussion. "Allow me to ask you this. Have you been exposed to much death in your life?"

"…. More than I would have liked," she murmured.

"And that's because you have lived on the streets your whole life." Again, there was that surprised expression of hers. It was almost as if she had not noticed that _he_ had noticed the small details in the ways that she spoke and dressed that belied her social standing. Not very observant, was she? Giving a click of his tongue, Undertaker took another biscuit out of the urn. "Do not act surprised. After all, you did not make it very difficult for me to distinguish your... class in society. Surely, if a woman of at least a decent social ranking were shot, _someone_ would have noticed? But I digress. Back to discussing the good doctor… Where was I again?

"A beauty in death," Astrid growled out, annoyed at his bluntness.

"Ah, yes. As I was saying, those who have not lived in the streets are both shielded and ignorant of the concept of death. Their encounters with it are few and far between. However, for the poor such as yourself," he said, gesturing towards her with a bone-shaped confection. "There is almost no limit to the deaths that you encounter. Now, wouldn't you agree that there is a… greater attraction in a grisly death rather than a peaceful, albeit boring, one?"

"And why would I think that?"

"It is the mentality of most, whether they realize it or not. Why do you think executions are so closely observed? Why a crowd gathers when a bloody, mangled corpse has been found? People are fascinated about that which they cannot understand. And death is probably the least understandable notion in this entire world. Thus, death has a beauty that attracts all, regardless if they realize it."

"And how does this relate to Dr. Crippen?"

"One who realizes the splendor of death would surely know how to properly dispose of the body after its purpose has been completed. Dr. Crippen is not one such man. From what I've heard, he's a rather mousy fellow who likes to keep to himself."

"So he's _not_ the murderer?" she questioned, furrowing her brow in confusion.

"I never said that," Undertaker said with a wide grin on his face. "You see, you were correct in your assumption that Dr. Crippen had an accomplice. However—"

Suddenly, the door to the shop was flung open. Snapping her head in the direction of the entrance, Astrid was surprised to see a young (and rather wealthy-looking) child as well as a tall, dark-haired man enter the shop. "Ah~! Now, isn't this a pleasant surprise," Undertaker murmured while munching on yet another biscuit. As the child walked further into the shop, Astrid was able to distinguish that it was, in fact, a rather delicate-looking boy who wore an eye patch over his right eye.

"Undertaker," the boy said nonchalantly.

"It's been quite a while since I saw you last, Earl Ciel Phantomhive."

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, sorry about the crappy editing for this one. I just wanted to go ahead and get it out. :D Until next time!


	9. A Butler

**A/N: **'Ello again! Wow, summer's already half over! Yeesh, that's hard to believe. Anywho, sorry that this chapter has taken so long! I've been trying to find subbed versions of the first episode of Kuroshitsuji II. I've seen it raw, and it looks pretty good, which was kinda of a surprise to me. So yeah. Give it a try. And now, please enjoy this next chapter!

_Disclaimer:_ Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, and other whatnot do not belong to me. Big surprise there.

* * *

"It certainly has been a while," Ciel murmured.

"And who is this young man with you~?" Undertaker asked, tapping a black talon against his chin.

"Sebastian Michaelis, my new butler," the earl responded. Hearing himself being introduced, the man gave a deep bow from the waist toward Undertaker.

"Pleased to meet you," Sebastian said with a smirk on his face. However, for some inexplicable reason, his expression seemed to hold more malice than even one of Undertaker's grins. The butler looked as normal as any other human being, with the exception of his brown eyes that were colored so deeply that they almost appeared red. But… there was a definite… _otherworldly_ air about him. And at the moment, Astrid was attempting to decide whether that was good or not.

It was only when she felt the Earl's rather sharp glare that she realized that she had been staring. The butler, however, seemed to be smiling to himself from where he stood in the shadows.

"Undertaker, I wasn't aware that you had taken on an apprentice," Ciel noted. "Isn't it considered improper for a woman to be saddled with an apprenticeship?"

"Indeed… but as I recall, you and your family never took note of what society deemed improper," Undertaker chuckled. "No, Astrid isn't my apprentice. We simply stumbled across each other one day, and she's made herself… at home since."

"You don't say," Ciel said, narrowing a cold eye in her direction.

"But surely, you didn't come all this way simply to observe my lifestyle, Earl," Undertaker said, motioning for him to take a seat on one of the spare coffins. "So tell me, what brings you here this time?"

"Her Majesty wishes for me to look into the recent murder of Cora Henrietta Crippen," Ciel replied, seating himself on said coffin.

"Oh~? And why does the Queen believe that this particular murder deserves looking into? Surely Her Majesty knows that deeds such as this are committed at least every day."

"She is under the belief that this murder could lead to more, and so she has sent me to investigate."

"Ah~! And thus, you came here for information, correct?" Undertaker questioned.

"Indeed."

"Very well. But I'm afraid I am going to need something in return. How about a laugh, Earl~? Surely, you could spare one," he said with a wide grin set on his face.

"… It would be preferable for you to lend me your services as quickly as you can," Ciel replied with an exasperated sigh.

"Ah, ah, ah~! Payment first, information next! That's always how I've worked, Earl." Scratching his chin in thought, he murmured, "But then again… your family has always been welcome here. Such a shame that they died. I suppose I can be lenient on this one occasion. However, there will be no breaks next time, Milord. Is that acceptable to you~?"

"Very well," he said in irritation. "But can we please make this quick?"

"A good story cannot be rushed," he chuckled. Within a short amount of time, Undertaker caught the Earl up to where his and Astrid's conversation had been interrupted. For a while, the Earl simply sat there in thought, mulling over the information given to him. Suddenly, he snapped his head up. "Sebastian, make a list of all the doctors who have recently either made contact with the police or attempted to leave the country."

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian murmured.

"A wonderful place to start, dear Earl," Undertaker said. Feeling something lightly nudge his shoulder, he looked over to see Astrid looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"Why a doctor, Undertaker?" she whispered, not wishing to be seen as inferior by the Earl and his butler. "What would a doctor involve himself in this specific murder?" Opening his mouth to answer her, Undertaker was suddenly interrupted by the Earl.

"We will be leaving now, Undertaker," Ciel said, taking the cane offered to him by Sebastian. "Your information has proved invaluable."

"Anything for the Earl," he replied with his signature grin. "And please, don't hesitate to come by again~."

And without any further ado, Ciel and Sebastian left the morgue as the door creaked loudly behind them. Turning back toward Astrid, he said, "Now, what were you saying again?"

"Why a doctor? Aren't there more likely suspects than well-to-do doctors?" she asked as Undertaker picked up the beaker that had been sitting next to him.

"Well, answer me this. Would an average, run-of-the-mill murderer be able to discern where exactly to cut off the limbs? Believe me when I say that cutting through the human body is much more difficult than one might think. It takes certain knowledge to realize where exactly to slice through the skin. As you probably recall, the cuts were quite clean with nary a strip of flesh out of place. Only a doctor would be able to determine where to make that cut, as I mentioned beforehand. It is for this reason, that even the higher occupations will be suspected in cases such as these," he chuckled, taking a sip from a tea-filled beaker.

"Well, Crippen is a doctor, isn't he?"

"And that was the Yard's method of thinking, wasn't it? However, he is now in prison at the moment and serves as no threat. No, I believe that he probably just assisted the true culprit."

"So the perpetrator was actually the assistant?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it?"

"… I have another question."

"My, you are certainly full of those, aren't you~?"

Giving him a wary glance, Astrid questioned, "How does a funeral director such as yourself know all these things?"

A menacing silence followed. Although she couldn't see through the curtain of hair hiding his eyes, she could almost feel him glaring at her. However, almost as quickly as it had come, the foreboding air disappeared. His typical grin set on his face, Undertaker said mirthfully, "I simply observe, dear Astrid. There's nothing more to it than that. Now, the day is long gone now, and frankly, you still have some blood left in your hair from your wound. You had best go and wash before it decides to stay."

Still slightly perturbed from the quick change of moods, Astrid nodded and began to make her way toward the washroom. When she had started listening to him, she didn't know. What she _did_ know was that he was not a man to be trifled with, no matter how eccentric he seemed on the outside. Without a doubt, she was fortunate that he had come to consider her as a guest rather than a nuisance. As she entered the washroom, Astrid found that it was fairly simple in its design. Thankfully, it only took a relatively small amount of time to fetch enough water for a decent bath. Carefully stripping off her dress and laying it gently on the ground (seeing as it was the only one she owned), she stepped into the basin with a sigh. While it was true that only the upper class could spare the expense for regular baths, Astrid had to admit that it felt rather nice to be able to wash off all the dirt and grime for once.

Combing her hands through her hair, she thought back to Undertaker. It seemed as if the more time she spent with him, the less she came to understand. At first, he had simply appeared as a peculiar funeral director who had just happened to pick her up from the gutters. That was only yesterday. Now Astrid didn't know what to think of him. Certainly he was still just as peculiar as the day before, but now he also seemed to have knowledge of most of the crimes in London. Or at least enough that earls were coming to him for information. _Earls_.

Yet he didn't seem to know what had happened to her.

And that didn't bode well for Astrid at all.

* * *

**A/N:** And there you have it! Hopefully the next chapter should be ready by either this week or the week after next. But in any case, it should be quite interesting. Thanks for reading! Until next time!


	10. A Library

**A/N:** Yeesh, this chapter had a hard time coming out. I feel like I've practically memorized the thesaurus after attempting to find the right phrases for this chapter. Here's hoping that I did pretty decent. Please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, filler bunnies, or its crazy shinigami do not belong to me. Curses.

* * *

Astrid was brighter than she appeared, that much was clear. Great care would have to now be taken, Undertaker decided.

If he was not careful enough, everything would reveal itself. The memory spell he had placed on her was now at the point that if his concentration was shaken in the least, the repressed memories would come flooding into her head. But for some reason, Undertaker didn't feel as worried as he thought he should be. Certainly it would not bode well for Astrid if the Shinigami Council found out… but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, correct? Besides, he had matters more pressing than the Council to worry about at the moment. Astrid's case was more disturbing than she might think. It seemed more and more likely that she had seen something she shouldn't have seen the day she had been shot. There was something distinctly strange about the way that the incident had occurred. Why hadn't the murderer checked to see that his victim was at least dead? Even the simplest pickpocket would have rummaged through the victim's clothes to try and salvage their valuables. Something didn't sit right with him. Not right at all.

Pulling out a stool in front of Mrs. Crippen's coffin, Undertaker stared at the corpse with a fixed gaze. Who _was_ the accomplice? Everything depended on that one answer. Pressing his knuckles against his chin in a thoughtful manner, he ran through the facts in his mind. Crippen had assisted in the murder. Crippen had disposed of the corpse's torso. The accomplice had thrown the rest of the body in the Thames, where it had been salvaged by the Yard. Soon after, Crippen had been arrested for his alleged crimes.

Wait.

Who had given the Yard the information necessary to even suspect Crippen? The only plausible answer pointed to the accomplice. But _who_ was he?

The sound of the washroom door creaking open broke Undertaker out of his thoughts. Turning around, he felt an unbidden smirk come to his face at the sight of Astrid futilely attempting to completely close the door behind her. Eventually giving up, she strode to the nearest coffin and promptly plopped herself on top of it.

"Do you _ever_ oil those hinges?" she asked in irritation.

"Not at all~," he replied teasingly, tapping a finger against his lips. "But feel free to do so yourself, if you ever feel so inclined."

"I just might take you up on that," she said, blowing a damp strand of hair out of her face.

Strange. Now that all the grime had been washed out, he could see that her hair was actually an extremely light shade of red. It suited her. For a while, the two sat in an almost companionable silence inside the morgue.

"Astrid," Undertaker suddenly murmured.

Jumping slightly at the sound, she turned her head towards him. "Yes?"

"The man that shot you. Are you sure that you didn't manage to even catch a glimpse of him? Not even a single one of his features?"

"His entire face was covered by the alley's shadow. I was too busy being mortally injured to really notice anything," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Do you think that you could guess his age, perhaps?" he questioned.

Mulling the thought over for a few moments, Astrid replied, "Maybe late thirties, early forties?"

Suddenly standing up from his seat on the coffin, Undertaker walked toward the bookshelf in the back of the store. Murmuring underneath his breath, Undertaker dragged his finger across the spines of the many tomes. "No use," he eventually sighed. "It's not here."

"What are you doing over there?" she asked from the other side of the store.

"Oh nothing~!" Undertaker said nonchalantly, flashing her a wide grin. "Say Astrid, would you mind watching over the shop for a moment? There's a quick errand I need to run."

"Er… sure?"

"Wonderful~! I promise I won't be long!" Undertaker said, patting her on the head. "It should only take a few minutes at most. Now, take care!" As the door screeched behind him, Astrid looked at his books out of the corner of her eye. There was something about them that seemed awfully familiar… Had she ever looked through them before? She couldn't remember doing any such thing.

But… what would it hurt to take a quick peek into those books? After all, what else was she supposed to do in a mortuary? She wasn't crazy enough to start talking to the corpses just yet.

As she walked towards the bookshelves, it somehow felt as if she were being _pulled_ towards the area. But that was ridiculous… wasn't it? Just when Astrid was about to brush her hand against the nearest volume, she suddenly heard the door screech open again.

"And Astrid," Undertaker said. "Please don't touch those. They're not exactly the most sturdy of things, you know~!"

As the door closed once again, Astrid plopped herself down on the couch and proceeded to grumble to herself about "weirdo morticians" and "blasted hinges".

* * *

That had almost been another disaster right then. Sighing to himself, Undertaker walked into the nearest alley and summoned a portal to the Shinigami Library. It seemed as if the memory suppression spell would break any day now. Usually, he had no trouble with containing memories but Astrid was somehow proving herself to be far more difficult than he had expected.

But he would worry about her later. As Undertaker approached the library, he mulled over the possible suspects in his mind.

The information that Astrid had given him would help in the long run, but the search would still prove difficult. But if he were to stick to his earlier suspicion of the murderer holding an occupation as a doctor, his search should not take _quite_ as much time. After all, the Shinigami Library was known for its organization. Reapers constantly had to run errands such as this on their jobs, so the Library had been made to suit their purposes. Entering the pristine building, Undertaker strolled through the first few rooms and into the heart of the Library itself.

* * *

**A/N:** And that's all for now folks! Until next time!


	11. An Informant

**A/N:** Alrighty then. First thing's first. Sorry for taking so long! I was suffering from the horrible disease known as writer's block! But still, thanks for all of your patience and encouragement. With that said, let me thank Alucard-345 for actually sending a PM to me, and forcing me to get off my butt and write. I'd like to let you know that as soon as an idea for this chapter popped into my head, I literally ran to the computer to type it down before I forgot about it. Now without further ado, here's the next chapter!

_Disclaimer:_ All Kuroshitsuji, its characters, and the like is not belonging to me. Curses.

* * *

"Dr. Joseph Smithson… early forties… performs surgeries at the Royal London Hospital… an addict to opium… and not our accomplice," Undertaker murmured as he plopped the book on the library floor along with the countless others. The pile had steadily grown as the afternoon dwindled, leaving Undertaker feeling more annoyed than determined in this situation. "Ah, Dr. Peter Holloway… early forties… left London recently to care for his mother… and in no relation to Crippen's case." He had known from the beginning that it would take quite a while to find his doctor... "Not this one either," he growled, throwing another book to the ground.

…. But did it _have_ to be so damn difficult?

Shifting through the shelves for a few more minutes, Undertaker eventually gave an exasperated sigh. Perhaps the Shinigami Library was not as organized as he remembered it. After all, this was the first time in a while that he was actually _searching_ for a specific person. Previous times, he had simply gone to the nearest shelf and picked up some books for a little light reading.

It seems that that particular strategy was not working at the moment.

* * *

Where _was_ he?

It was now long past midnight, and Undertaker still had not returned from wherever he had disappeared to. Astrid had tried falling asleep, but she couldn't help but wonder where the _hell_ Undertaker had vanished. Pushing herself up from the worn bed, Astrid groggily stumbled from the bedroom to the main room. She had seen Undertaker spontaneously produce cups of tea out of thin air before, and now she was determined to find out where. Besides, how hard could finding a stove be?

Harder than one might think, she soon found out. She had just about searched every nook and cranny for any sign of a stove, but all she had come across were some jars with unknown contents, vats of salt, and some more of those biscuits. But no tea. Rubbing her temples in annoyance, Astrid plopped down on the nearest coffin and attempted to think of any places she hadn't yet looked.

She was in such deep thought, that the sudden rapping against the door nearly sent her tumbling from her seat to the floor. Regaining her sense of balance, Astrid gazed cautiously at the door. Undertaker had not mentioned that any guests would be arriving today. So who in the world would bother themselves to come to this dingy alley this late at night? She was fairly certain that it wasn't a burglar of any sort, seeing as they had opted to knock rather than break through the windows. And after all, who would rob a mortician's shop? When the rapping only became more rapid, Astrid briskly walked toward the door and swung it open. Well… as much as an aged, creaking door _could_ swing. Almost immediately upon opening the door, Astrid found two officers in the Scotland Yard's uniform glowering down at her.

"Erm… is there something I can do for you, officers?" Astrid asked awkwardly.

"Astrid Cox?" one murmured in a gravelly tone.

"… Yes? What do you want?" she replied, crossing her arms as she fixed them with an equally menacing glare.

"We have recently received information from a reliable source that approximately two days ago, you were in contact with a certain Dr. Haweley Crippen," the other officer said as his partner scanned the alley around them.

"I… don't know what you're t-talking about," she said, futilely attempting to remain nonchalant. However, her mind was spinning with questions. The foremost of which was the identity of the informant.

"Really?" the officer said dismissively. "Our source seemed quite adamant that the two of you had known each other quite well."

"Lies," she hissed.

"It's his word against yours," the other man shrugged. "And frankly, his pays better."

"He also… _implied_... that it would be better for London if you were kept behind bars. Can't have Crippen's accomplice running around, can we?"

"Accomplice?" she growled.

"Now, Miss Astrid, if you don't want to raise a fuss, I suggest you—"

"Visitors already?" a familiar voice suddenly chuckled. "My, my Astrid… you certainly know how to fill up a place~"

Breathing out a sigh of relief that she didn't know she had been holding, Astrid looked towards the source of Undertaker's voice, which just so happened to be directly behind the Yard's officers.

"Now, what are you two gentlemen doing here~? Everything going well in the Yard?"

"Sir, do you know this woman?"

"Naturally. You see, her brother works here as my apprentice."

"She has a brother?" the more dim-witted officer whispered to his partner, which promptly earned him an elbow in the ribs.

"I see. And… how long has he been working for you?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Oh, for about two years now. Lovely pair, the two of them~. Look just alike, they do."

"Really." For a while, it appeared that the officer was attempting to peer through Undertaker's curtain of hair for any signs of lying. Apparently finding none, he tipped his hat in Astrid's direction with a glint in his eye. "I'm terribly sorry for the mix-up."

"Bah, no harm done~."

"Good day then," he murmured, walking away with his partner.

Heaving a sigh of relief as the two finally turned out of the alley, Astrid turned flash a grateful smile toward Undertaker. But judging how his smirk had turned into a severe frown, Astrid could tell that she wasn't free just yet. Entering his shop without a single glance in her direction, Undertaker crooked a finger at Astrid. For the first time since living with this stranger, she felt a pinprick of fear shoot through her body. Standing before the countertop at the front of the shop, he began to drum his talons against the decaying wood. As she closed the door behind her, Astrid could feel his glare stabbing her from across the room. She didn't need to see his eyes to tell that they were fixing her with one of the dourest glares imaginable.

"So Astrid," he growled. "Care to explain why two false officers were standing outside my shop, claiming that you knew Crippen?"

* * *

**A/N:** And there ya go! The next chapter should come out fairly soon, depending on how kind the first week of school decides to be. Until then, thanks for reading!


	12. A Record

**A/N:** Yeesh! Sorry about taking so long! But I'm afraid updating's only going to get more erratic from here on out. Well, at least until the first semester of school is over. I definitely promise that this story won't be going on hiatus or anything, but I can't guarantee any regular updates fro a while. But anywho, wow! Thanks for all of the support for the last chapter! Sounds like a lot of you were surprised by the turn of things! And with that, I'll shut up! Please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ Kuroshitsuji, its characters, nor any of its other whatnot belong to me.

* * *

"You don't say?" Ciel sighed, looking out the window of his study.

"Indeed. Although the Queen established the Scotland Yard only recently, it seems that crime rate has already been rapidly decreasing," Sebastian silkily replied. Flicking his gaze towards his master at the sound of his soft scoff, Sebastian smirked, "You have little faith in them, I presume?"

"London's Underworld isn't small enough for a handful of officers to purge it. Whatever progress they're now making surely must constitute from some oversight or other."

"And what gives you reason to believe that, milord?"

"Call it intuition."

"...Very well. However, it is very late for the Young Master to be thinking of such matters. Perhaps it is time to retire?"

* * *

"I'm waiting," Undertaker said, narrowing his eyes at his guest.

"Er… w-well… you see—" Astrid stuttered.

"I'm not in a particularly patient mood at the moment, Miss Astrid," he murmured, his voice taking an unnaturally dangerous tone. "So I suggest that you don't keep me waiting any longer. Now, _what_ have you been hiding?"

Astrid desperately searched her memories for any hints leading to Crippen. It was suddenly crucial that she remember what had happened that dark night when she was wounded. Something in her mind tugged ferociously, insisting that that night held the key to the answers. But no matter how deeply she searched her own memories, the maze that was her mind only grew more complicated. It was as if a mental block had cut off all memories relating that night.

But _how_?

"I don't know," she suddenly blurted out, fear and desperation clouding her voice. "I can't remember a thing from before the day you found me. I don't know who those men are, why they came, or even where they came from! I don't remember anything!"

"And what reason have I to believe you?"

Silence reigned for a few terse minutes.

Then Astrid quietly countered, "Have I given you a reason to disbelieve me?"

Silence again.

Undertaker rose from his seat behind the counter and slowly, ever so slowly, something seemed to materialize in his hands.

The heavy, clacking sounds of his boots echoed across dimly-lit area. Looking towards him with wide eyes, Astrid felt her breath grow quick and shallow.

He was carrying a scythe.

Easily taller than she was, the weapon was adorned with what appeared to be a human skull and wire that twisted wickedly about the handle.

What would happen now?

If he should choose to kill her for whatever reason, no one would know. Even with her lack of memory, she knew that out of the thousands of people in London, no one would miss her. Life would go on.

Pausing a short distance in front of her, Undertaker gave a slight sigh. This girl was becoming more trouble than she was worth. However, he couldn't deny that it definitely threw some excitement in the night. "This might hurt a bit," he warned.

"What—" Without even the slightest bit of warning, Undertaker effortlessly plunged the scythe into her bandaged arm. Blood spurting wildly out of the wound, Astrid fell to the ground with a cry. At first, her mind was filled with shock. Even when he had stood before her with the curved blade, she had never actually expected him to harm her. Clutching at her arm, she attempted to staunch the bleeding.

Then, the strangest thing seemed to happen.

From her arm came thin, sleek rolls of paper, unfurling in the air. And if that wasn't peculiar enough, the paper seemed to be recent moments of her life. Then, without any warning, a sudden pain assaulted her head. She could feel memories forcing themselves back into her mind, fighting to return to their rightful places. And then some memories seemed to return.

_A book on Undertaker's shelf. A bright light. A young man's life passing before her eyes in seconds. Falling to the ground. Undertaker pressing a palm against her forehead, effectively erasing her memory._

Shaking her head as the flashback drew to a close, Astrid rubbed her fingers against her temples. He had _lied_ to her, the hypocrite. He had nearly killed her with that scythe because he believed she was lying, when he had been feigning ignorance the entire time!

Profanities flew profusely from her mouth as she grimaced from the pain. Astrid jumped as she suddenly felt a hand on her arm. Turning about, she saw Undertaker seating himself on the ground beside her. Batting Astrid's hand away from her wound, he rolled up her sleeve so that he could wrap fresh bandages about the wound.

Roughly tugging her arm out of his grasp once she was finished, Astrid was abruptly faced with Undertaker's robes as he quickly stood up to observe the films about him. Tapping a few with his talons as he went, Undertaker suddenly came across one that spread that signature grin across his face.

"It seems you were not lying, Astrid," he chuckled, turning towards her. "My sincerest apologies~." His grin growing broader at her furious expression, Undertaker ushered her forward with a wide gesture. "Now, let's leave the insults for later~. Why don't you come over here and see what happened that night?"

* * *

**A/N:** A few comments real quick.

**1)** I'm sorry about Undertaker's not-so-creative hiding place for his scythe, but let's face it. Grell basically pulls his out of his pocket every time, so having a scythe materialize out of nowhere isn't the most ridiculous idea.

**2)** Movies and film weren't invented until a while after the Victorian age. This doesn't mean that I'm going to cut the cinematic record out of the story, but rather that Astrid won't know what it is specifically.

If that's too confusing for you, please tell me and I'll try to fix it. Thanks for reading!


	13. Another

**A/N:** GRAH! Sorry for taking so long! I tried making this chapter longer in the usual amount of time but obviously… that didn't work that well. Though, I have a list of what you can blame instead of me! Let's see… Kingdom Hearts, being lazy, discovering Hellsing, school, being lazy, David Bowie, being lazy, annnnnd that about covers it.

Again, sorry for the holdup, people. But still, thanks for all your support! Enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ Blah, do not own.

* * *

For a while, Astrid simply stood behind Undertaker.

He had deceived her.

He had nearly slashed off her arm with a ridiculously large scythe.

And last but not least, he was apparently capable of erasing particular memories. In other words, he was in for a surprise if he thought that she would blindly follow him again.

Although… she _did_ wish to understand what had happened on that stormy day. And here was her chance, literally standing in front of her. But how could she know that this wasn't another ruse for Undertaker to plunge his scythe just a little deeper into her skin? He had seemed perfectly sane before… but would a "sane" person have thrust a blade without so much as flinching?

… But then again, a sane person probably wouldn't be able to see her own life's record before her eyes either.

Silently skulking towards Undertaker, Astrid growled out, "I expect some answers after this."

"Naturally," he replied almost cheerfully, casually leaning against his scythe. "You never seemed the type to simply leave something be, after all. Especially things left better untouched." Shaking her head at his enigmatic words, she crossed her arms and proceeded to watch the scene playing before them. She would be sure to hound him for answers after this.

* * *

Running.

That was all she could afford to do at the moment, much to her empty stomach's dismay. In fact, if it hadn't been for that accursed thing, Astrid wouldn't be scampering through the streets of London in hopes of throwing certain officers of the law off her trail. And of course it _had_ to be today of all days. The blasted officers _couldn't_ have chosen another day, with better weather, to watch for pickpockets. That man would have never missed that ten pound note in the first place!

But here she was.

Running. In the rain.

It was hard enough pushing through the sea of people, but naturally the sky decided to dump itself on this particular day. Leaping into the first available alleyway, Astrid held her breath as the officers dashed past the grimy street. When she was absolutely sure that they were gone, she slumped herself on the dingy wall, gasping for breath.

'_That was too close,'_ she thought, attempting to somewhat shied herself from the rain. _'Maybe I should try to be a little more careful next time…'_

IT was when she was about to exit the alleyway, that Astrid suddenly heard muffled shouts from the connecting street. Of course, the sensible thing to do would be to ignore the noises and go right back out into the streets. But, naturally, Astrid carefully crept her way deeper into the alley. After all, what was life without a little danger?

"Please! … Just wait a little longer!"

Pausing as she heard cries echo across the alleyway, Astrid clung to the shadows of the dirty walls. It wasn't a rare occurrence to stumble upon a mugging in this area, but that the man was begging for _time_ rather than his life drew Astrid's curiosity. As she silently stepped through the filth that filled the alleyways, she could hear the pleas grow steadily louder.

"The Yard's not making this any easier for me either! If you want it, you're going to have to give me another chance!" the man exclaimed, repeating his plea.

"Ah, but I'm afraid that we have already given you far more time than necessary. And you have failed us—again— in our request," replied a cultured, eloquent tone. "And you see, my… associate finds the substance quite necessary for his performance."

The sound of something metallic, being passed from hand to hand, resonated through the small space.

"You can surely imagine the consequences if he does not receive the dosage fairly soon? I feel I should remind you that I cannot control his rather… volatile nature when he incenses himself so."

"I- I understand! Just let me go, and I'll give you what you want! I swear it!" the man pleaded, his voice taking a wildly desperate tone.

"Just let me silence the little bugger," a deep, throaty voice growled out.

"Here! That's all I have for now! Take it!" he cried, throwing some kind of substance on the cobblestone street. "Just don't kill me!" Deciding to take a chance, Astrid cautiously peeked from around the alley's corner to glimpse the object. However, she was rather stunned to see a very small bottle rolling before the man's feet, rather than a sack of something more valuable.

"Finally!" the deeper voice murmured, as he snatched the bottle from the ground. Astrid could now see that the man was dressed head to toe in a pristine suit with half-moon glasses that were in need of repair. But what astounded her the most was the enormous scythe casually thrown over one shoulder. The curve of the blade glinted wickedly as a flash of lightning from the storm lit up the alleyway.

Then, without warning, she felt the butt of the scythe suddenly crush itself against her windpipe. Effectively pinned against the alley wall, Astrid desperately clawed at the blade's handle as its owner smirked at her pitiful scramblings. "Hey Boss, come take a look at _this_ rat," he snorted.

"Well, now what have we here?" His ice blue eyes were half-lidded, as if it were too taxing for him to even look down on her. However, as he came closer to her, a flash of recognition seemed to pass over his face.

Suddenly the man seemed to lose every grain self-control he possessed. Fingers trembling and his eyes widened drastically at some unspoken notion. Without a word to his "associate," whose attention was now solely focused on the jar in his hands, the man frantically fumbled for something within his coat. And although she knew exactly what he was reaching for, Astrid made no movement. It was as if fear (and the impression that she was about to die) had paralyzed her. As she had expected, the man quickly withdrew a small revolver and immediately took aim at her head.

"She's already seen too much," he murmured to himself, hands quaking. "She's already seen too much."

"Well, go ahead and shoot her then," the man grumbled, continuing to offhandedly play with the jar in his hands. And without further ado, he fired.

Pain. Pure, undiluted pain coursed through her arm. She couldn't think. She couldn't even scream.

"You missed, fool," the man said again, sliding the bottle into his pocket. In a lower voice, he muttered, "Worthless mortal."

"She's seen too much… She's seen too much," the man continued to murmur as he clumsily attempted to place the gun back in his coat.

Heaving a sigh, his companion replied, "If you insist, then." Half-moon spectacles glinting in the light, he swung his scythe down from his shoulder. As he eyed the woman sprawled across the alley, he said, "You _do_ realize that this means she'll live?" With only his companion's whispers as a response, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Hold still, wretch," he growled as the scythe came plummeting toward her head. And although she would never live it down, Astrid promptly passed out at that moment.

* * *

As the memory faded away, there was a rare silence in the morgue for a few moments. The Undertaker himself had even refrained from tapping his talons against a nearby coffin.

Glancing at his guest after a few moments, Undertaker broke the silence with a soft cackle at her expression. "Why, Astrid, you never told me you knew how to unhinge your jaw."

* * *

**A/N:** Liked it? Loved it? Abhorred it? Critiques are welcome!


	14. An Apology

**A/N:** Without fail, I have once again delivered a chapter…. LATE! Anywho, has anyone else watched the Funimation dub of Kuro yet? Pretty interesting… And on that note, please enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ Kuroshitsuji, its characters, plot, and other whatnot do not belong to me. Whoop-de-doo.

* * *

Promptly snapping her jaw shut, Astrid still could only stare in incredulity as she attempted to process what she had just witnessed. She looked over to Undertaker, only to see that he was now deep in thought, if his careful stroking of his scythe was any indication. It was difficult to say with his hair concealing his eyes like that. In an effort to rouse her host, Astrid stood from her seat and lightly tapped the brim of his hat. Lifting up his head slightly, Undertaker grinned and tapped her on her own head in response. "Yes, m'dear?"

"You promised me answers," she stated frankly. Both knew there was no more use now in beating around the bush.

"Ah, I did, didn't I? Very well, ask anything you would like," Undertaker said pleasantly, spreading his arms in an arc, as if were trying to show he had nothing to hide. Naturally, the rather large scythe in his hand ruined the effect. Plopping himself on the coffin opposite of Astrid, Undertaker positioned his scythe in the crook of his arm and perched his chin on his laced fingers.

Taken aback by his relaxed attitude (when only a few moments ago, he seemed perfectly at ease with slicing her arm), Astrid awkwardly cleared her throat before fixing her host with her own calculating glare.

"What are you?" she asked, without the barest hint of faltering. "How did you erase my memories? Why did you cut my arm?"

Chuckling gleefully, Undertaker replied, "Not wasting any time, are we? Very well, I shall keep my word and answer your questions. Nonetheless," he said, lifting a clawed finger, "once this information is given, there is no turning back." However, from simply glimpsing the sheer determination in her eyes, Undertaker could see that his warning hardly fazed her at all.

"Very well," he continued. "To answer your question, over the centuries mortals have given us the name 'Reapers.' Can I assume you are familiar with the term?"

Again, she appeared dumbstruck.

Sighing to himself, Undertaker murmured, "It seems that some tea may be necessary for this."

* * *

"And how do I know that I can trust your word?" Astrid questioned, a warm beaker of tea now firmly in her hands.

"M'dear, may I direct your attention back toward this particular device?" Undertaker drawled, nudging his scythe with a leather boot.

"Ah."

"Should I remind you of anything else before we continue?" he asked, lightly sipping his own beaker.

"Er… no."

"Excellent. As I was saying, we Reapers have tangled with the human "affairs" since eternity itself began. We sever man's physical connection to life so that he may continue his journey in the afterlife."

"And just… how do you accomplish that?"

"Interesting process there," Undertaker smirked. "What happens, is that when a human approaches death, we view their lives in something called a "Cinematic Record." Now, humans themselves can only witness this record when they are either dying or are sliced by wondrous objects such as these," he said, tapping his scythe with his foot once again. "I believe that most humans say that they see their 'life flashing before their eyes' or something along the lines of that. Regardless, the Reaper then judges the affected based on if their continued existence would benefit the world or not. Unfortunately, it usually falls to the latter. The victim's life is then recorded in books that are gathered together in a great library. Did you get all that?"

Rather than fall into another faint, Astrid took a deep sip of her tea. A _very_ deep sip. "I think so," she said hesitantly. "So the memory that we watched came from my own 'record' then?"

"Right on the nose," he sniggered, leaning forward to tap her nose for emphasis.

"Do Reapers have any other powers?"

"Now, you can't honestly expect me to spoil everything for you?" he asked mirthfully, picking up his scythe. "However, I will tell you that most are limited to their reaping skills alone. What I used to suppress your memory was a rather odd trick that I picked up through the centuries." Then, with a flick of his wrist, his blade suddenly disappeared. Her mouth threatening to hang open once again, Astrid felt a thousand more questions run through her mind. Perhaps this man— er… Reaper could never be solved.

Taking a few more sips from her beaker, Astrid quietly mulled over what she had now gotten herself into.

"Another question," she continued. "In that memory, those two men received a container of something. What was that anyway?"

Standing up to his full height, Undertaker slowly drew a small bottle out of the folds of his cloak. "You mean this?" Holding it in front of her face, he leered down at her with his Cheshire grin. "You may not recognize it, but others know it as strychnine." Sliding the bottle back into his cloak, Undertaker began pacing in circles around his guest. "Fairly lethal, it takes only half a grain to kill a mortal. Once consumed, it then proceeds to send the victim into convulsions, followed by a rather tedious period of suffocation, and eventually, death. Of course, for those like myself, this only serves as drug. Much like opium to humans, strychnine has addictive qualities for us Reapers."

"Then what did that other man want with it?" To her chagrin, this brought Undertaker's pacing to an immediate halt beside her. From her view, Astrid could see his tapered fingers twitch slightly in apprehension. For a few moments, the only sound she could hear was the sound of her own breathing.

"You gave me your word that you would answer me," she murmured uneasily.

"… That I did," Undertaker answered with a trace of wariness. "You're in far too deep for your own good anyway," he muttered darkly. Another piercing silence following his statement, Astrid awkwardly began tapping her nails on the near-empty beaker. "To answer your question," he suddenly replied. "The reaper who erased your memories goes by the name Richard Greaves—"

"Wait… you know him?" Astrid spluttered.

"Naturally. We were… associates," Undertaker said with a hint of hesitance and regret. "But I digress. My guess is that Greaves now serves that man in exchange for strychnine if anything. However, it will need more looking into."

"… One last question."

"Yes?" he said pleasantly, his darker tone now replaced with a wide smile.

"…Was he the one who gave you those scars?"

Silence.

"Now now, that's a story for another day," he said lightly, patting Astrid on her cheek. "Dawn is still far from approaching, and I'm afraid I have been neglecting my other guests. We shall continue this at a later time." Without another word, Undertaker stood from his coffin and began to gather his necessary embalming utensils. Casually watching him as she gulped down the remainder of her tea, Astrid began to make her way toward the bedroom to get whatever rest she could. But before she could even reach the back room, a voice called out to her.

"Astrid."

"… Yes?" she hesitantly replied.

"I am… sincerely sorry for not trusting you," Undertaker said softly.

Offering him a small smile, Astrid shook her head. "There's nothing to apologize for. Now, good night."

"… Good night," he replied, tipping his hat towards her. And as the door to his room shut behind her, he murmured, "And thank you."

* * *

**A/N: **Annnnnnnd cut, take, that's a wrap, moving on. Hope you enjoyed the fluff you were begging for! And here's wishing that you all have a great holiday!


	15. A Lead

**A/N:** It's been awhile, eh? Sorry to keep you all waiting!

_Disclaimer:_ Three guesses on what I'm about to say. I own Kuroshitsuji? Incorrect. I'm making valuable munnys off of this? Doubly incorrect. I should shut up and let you read? Looks like we have a winner, folks!

* * *

A firm knocking on the door woke Astrid the next morning. Mumbling groggily as the door creaked open, she felt her stomach gurgle as the scent of something baking began to reach her nose. "Good morning~" beamed her host.

"Morning to you too," she said, lightly stretching her arms. Giving a contented sigh as she heard the joints pop, Astrid began walking toward the door while running her fingers through her tangled hair. Truth be told, she was still a smidgeon edgy about interacting with someone who had just recently introduced himself as a "reaper." True, he had not done anything to prove that he had questionable intentions. True, he had only shown her hospitality (never mind the incident from the night before). But honestly, how was she _supposed_ to react? Just the _idea _that there were others like him made her feel dizzy. Was it even safe for her to stay with him? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

"Astrid dear, are you quite alright?" Undertaker said, waving a hand in front of her face. "Are you sure you're awake?"

"Oh, yes," she murmured. "Sorry about that."

"Not to worry, m'dear," he chuckled. "I'm afraid that I've put you through much lately anyhow."

"Please don't— Good lord, what died?" Astrid hissed, lifting her sleeve over her nose.

Cackling at her alarm, Undertaker snickered, "Quite the ironic question you pose, m'dear. Do you forget where you are?"

"Of course I don't," she replied, shooting him a dark look, "But this is just ridiculous!"

"Now, now," he said, wagging a taloned finger at her, "don't go insulting the other guests so quickly."

"How about you go take care of _your_ guests then?"

"Naturally!" Undertaker said brightly. "Please help yourself to some breakfast while I finish up!"

Shambling through the array of coffins, Astrid eventually came across a small plate of slightly burnt scones. "Getting tired of dog biscuits, are we?" Astrid called out sarcastically as she bit into one of the pastries.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckled as he began tending to his new "guest," "I just thought that today called for a bit of variety. You don't object, do you?"

"Of course not. Although," she paused, taking another mouthful of scone, "I've always wondered how you manage to cook with those talons of yours."

"Ah, 'tis simple really. All it takes is a bit a practice. Would you like to try it for yourself one day?"

"No thanks. By the way, where do you keep your kitchen anyhow? It shouldn't be so difficult to find in a place like this!"

"Perhaps it's because you're simply not looking in the right place," Undertaker answered amusedly.

"What? Did you hide the teapot in a coffin? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised even if you did."

"No, I assure you that it's not there. Though… perhaps I left the teabags hanging with the livers again," he said, tapping his chin with an ebony nail. "Gives it a full, ripe taste, you know."

Stopping mid-sip, Astrid stared wide-eyed at her beaker of tea. "You're… joking, right?"

Turning his head toward her, he only gave her another one of his rather disarming grins before returning the corpse.

"Tell me that my tea hasn't been floating with organs."

"Astrid dear, are you turning green? My, my, _that_ can't be good for your health," he chuckled with an expression that hinted he was anything but worried about her condition. But just as it looked like Astrid was about to sprint out the door, Undertaker sighed, "You can't seem to take an honest joke, m'dear."

Her green complexion vanishing almost instantly, a murderous look clouded over Astrid's face. "You blasted—"

"Now, now. It isn't befitting for a lady to get so riled up."

"You know, you can shove that up your—"

A sharp knock broke them from their conversation.

As he lifted his shaggy mane from his work, Astrid could almost feel waves of apprehension roll off Undertaker as he stared solidly at the door.

"Astrid dear, could you stay in the back while I take care of this?" he murmured. "Not all of my clients are from the most respectable parts of society, you see. And I would rather not involve you in this particular one."

About to open her mouth in protest, Astrid was suddenly silenced by a fierce, yellow-green gleam that shone through Undertaker's bangs. In no mood to argue with the more antagonistic side of her host, Astrid quietly moved into the back room. Looking around, she spotted a dirty, moth-eaten curtain that could be used to obscure that particular portion of the shop. Just as she slid the curtain across the space, she heard the door give its signature creak.

She could hear Undertaker enthusiastically welcome the customer, only to have the stranger abruptly interrupt him. The raised voice began to bleed through the thick curtain. But Undertaker did not raise his voice in return. Even during their... "disagreement," Astrid recalled that Undertaker barely spoke in a voice louder than his everyday speech.

But still, if Undertaker's mirthless voice were anything to go by, she definitely wouldn't want to be in that man's shoes at the moment. Citizen of the British underworld or not. However, Astrid froze as she heard the stranger's footsteps venture closer and closer to her hiding spot. She dared not move for fear of making more noise, but the footsteps only seemed to be growing closer and closer...

"What's behind here, eh?" the oily voice wheezed, "More of your rotting corpses? Or maybe you've been wasting your time collecting those blasted organs again? I need information, and you fail to provide."

"Dear sir, I was simply performing an autopsy before you arrived. And I would also be happy to provide your information, but I've already given you the conditions of my service~" Undertaker replied casually.

"I don't have the time to spout frivolous tales for a lunatic!"

"Then I recommend that you go searching elsewhere."

In a short matter of seconds, she heard a heavy set of shoes lumber across the shop, followed by a thunderous slam of the door. Feeling the tension slowly melt away, Astrid began to pull the curtain away only to have her host's face suddenly appear in front of her. Paying no mind to her shriek, he took her chin and chuckled, "Almost were found out, were you?"

Shaking her face out of his grip, Astrid ignored the slight tingle his touch left. "If you're expecting me to thank you, you've got another thing coming," she muttered, fixing him with a glare.

"Why I never dreamed of it, m'dear!"

"Who was that anyway?" she questioned curiously as they both made their way back to the main part of the morgue.

"Our new lead."

* * *

"So you suppose she knows about us now?" an aristocratic figure murmured, loosely holding a wine glass by his fingertips.

"Us?" Greaves snorted, his half-moon glasses glinting in the light. "She probably knows about the whole bloody plan now, no thanks to you."

"You're just as much at fault as I am, Reaper," the man hissed from his chair.

"Shut it, Ross. Your hands were the ones that shook that night. Some drug lord you are."

"Silence."

"If I hadn't been around you as long as I have, I would have guessed that you had never killed before, let alone held a gun!"

"_Silence._"

"So tell me, how have you managed to keep your 'business' afloat if you can't even manage to kill a whelp of a girl?"

"BE SILENT!" Ross bellowed, sending his chair toppling to the floor. Taking Greaves by the front of his shirt, he held the reaper up against the wall with almost inhuman strength. "Now listen closely, you incompetent _freak_," Ross growled. "_You _came to me. _You_ offered your services. And _you_ were the one begging like a dog for more of that _shit_. The way _I_ see it, you're in no position to speak to me in such a manner!" Taking a moment to calm his erratic breathing, Ross swept back his disheveled hair with his hand. "Am I understood, Mr. Greaves?"

"… Perfectly," the reaper growled out.

* * *

**A/N:** The chapter's over, but guess what? You're still amazing. Well, that and I'll actually try to get a move on this time around. See ya!


	16. A Knife

**A/N: **Oh. My. Goodness. Ten months. _Ten _months. So sorry for leaving you all for so long! But goodness! I come back online to find that I have _104 reviews _for this story. Thank you so much! All of you! This is my first story to reach the 100+ benchmark! And thanks again to all those that sent me messages, encouraging me to get off my lazy butt and finish this new chapter. So without further ado, I hope that this chapter may meet your expectations.

And again, _thank you all so much _for all the encouragement.

* * *

"Howard S. Redcliffe," Undertaker murmured, elegantly swirling a black talon in his tea.

"You mean that man who just stomped out of here?" Astrid asked from the other side of the shop. "Not a very jovial fellow, is he?"

Snorting lightly, Undertaker took a sip from his beaker. "Indeed. And I'm afraid that that unruly nature of his will soon land him in this shop."

Blowing a strand of bronze hair out of her face, she rolled her eyes slightly in his direction, "What makes you say that?"

"Simple. He has been in contact with the culprit of the Crippen case…. And I would have to say that that was a lovely alliteration there, don't you think?"

"I'd say that you're being perfectly incoherent today," she grumbled, rearranging a few items in front of her. Hearing the clanking of empty bottles from her direction, Undertaker lifted his head up and tilted his head slightly.

"If I may ask Miss Astrid—"

"You may."

Taking a moment to chortle a bit, he then said, "What precisely are you doing over there? If you wanted a better look at my specimens, you only had to ask."

"I'll keep that in mind, should the need ever come. But at the moment, I'm more preoccupied with the dust that's attempting to suffocate me."

"That's because you disturbed it!"

"Is there anything is this shop that _can_ be disturbed?" she sighed, pushing up the grimy sleeves of her plain dress. "I swear, it's a miracle anyone has enough courage to even enter this place."

"What can I say? It's home sweet home," he replied, "Besides, it hasn't discouraged any business _yet_. Well, none that I know of at least."

"Yes, yes. You're a man of very simple tastes. All you need are some kidneys and coffins, and you could live quite happily," Astrid laughed as she wiped the dust off the shelves with one of the few clean rags.

"And now it seems I even have my own maid to take care of anything I don't care to!"

"Don't go teasing me when I'm doing you a favor! Cleaning's a habit I picked up from my mum, if you would like to know."

"Ah yes, that's right. Your memories should be as right as rain by now. Care to tell me a bit about your mother, dearest?" Undertaker asked, perching his chin on tapered fingers.

"If you insist," she said, rolling her eyes, "My parents are one of the oldest tales in the book. Noble lady meets dirt-poor man. Lady marries man. Lady's parents disown her, leaving her without family or money. Lady and man work themselves to the bones, and eventually die of illness. I'm pretty sure I was born somewhere in the middle. But thankfully, because of her upbringing, my mum was able to teach me how to read and write before she died. Saved my skin quite a few times."

"I can imagine. But I must admit, I am curious to know what happened after your dear parents passed away."

"Well, we had all lived together in a one-room flat above a butcher's shop. That same butcher was our landlord, and once he found out that I couldn't pay the rent myself, he promptly threw me out." Lightly grazing her fingers over a glass beaker, she continued, "I had just turned fifteen."

Giving a small whistle, Undertaker said, "At least it didn't happen at a younger age." Then quickly adapting his more casual persona, he cackled, "If it had, I might've seen your pretty face far sooner in one of my lovely coffins."

Ignoring the light flush that came to her cheeks, she smirked, "Do you use that line on all the young ladies that pass by?"

"Only the ones that catch my interest," he replied without skipping a beat. "And you, m'dear, are an absolute conundrum."

"Why thank you," Astrid said, giving him a mock-curtsy. "And now, with your leave, I shall depart from your delightful presence for a spell."

"Tired of me already, are you?"

"Mmm, your occupation as a mortician can only interest me for so long." Giving him a small wave as she approached the doorway, she called out, "I'll be back in a bit, I just need some fresh air is all. And last time I was out, I heard a lot of people are talking about this bakery run by the… Fortesque family?"

"Eh, sounds familiar. Probably had something from there before."

Rolling her eyes, Astrid turned back toward him with her hands on her hips. "And here I thought you made everything yourself in your own little bakery," she said, gesturing to his biscuits.

"Yes, well, it never hurts to contribute to the economy of our dear England."

"If you say so," she chuckled, pushing the door open.

"And Astrid?"

"Hm?"

"I don't say this to many, but your strength is admirable. Take care to maintain it."

"Er… of course! Naturally!"

Chortling lightly at her confused expression, Undertaker walked toward the back room of the mortuary. Standing before the bookshelf of records, he swept elegant, spiderlike fingers across the spines of the tomes. He eventually settled on a thick, crimson volume and promptly made himself comfortable on his dusty couch before flipping the book open.

* * *

"Psssst! … Psssst!"

"Hm?" Flicking her eyes across the alley, Astrid shrugged nonchalantly. It had probably just been her imagination.

"Psssst!" came the voice again, "Pssst! Astttrid, you slow-witted… lassss! Over… here!" Looking behind her once more, Astrid was able to glimpse a flash of fabric skirting around the alleyway before the stranger disappeared. _'__That __voice__…' _she thought,_ '__It __sounds __awfully __familiar__… __Emory?__'_

Now, Astrid was not a stupid woman, but that scoundrel of a man had saved her skin more than once when she was still new to the streets of London. Dashing off around the corner, Astrid quickly came across a huddled figure clawing at his thin coat.

"Emory! What are you doing here?" Astrid murmured hurriedly, "Isn't the Yard still searching high and low for you!"

"Eh, if they… haven't caught me b'forrre, they won't… 'atch me nnnow," the older, graying man grunted. "Erm… But what I… mmmeant ter say wassss… Where 'ave you been 'iding yourssself?" His cloudy, brown eyes flickered uneasily across the alley with each word. With shaking hands, he managed to pull out a small liquor canteen from underneath his frayed coat. However, despite his desperate gulps, the liquor seemed to do little for his nerves. In fact, more ended up on his matted beard than in his mouth.

Sniggering lightly, Astrid said, "What's the matter with you, old dog? You're barely ever this jittery. One might think that you've seen… a…" The words slowly died in her throat as a familiar shadow began to stretch itself on the wall before her.

"A ghost?" the figure cackled as he stepped out from the brick and lightly closed his fingers about her throat.

"Greaves?" she sputtered, amidst her gasps for breath.

"Ah, I see that that blathering fool has already seen to my introduction. My deepest apologies for forgetting my manners last we met," Richard Greaves purred.

"Emory," Astrid gasped, "Don't just stand there like an idiot! Do something!"

"Oh, that drunkard?" Greaves chuckled, "I found him rotting behind a tavern with a knife in his gut this morning! He's been dead for hours, m'dear." As if to demonstrate his claim, Emory crumpled limply to the floor at a sharp flick of the shinigami's wrist. Although she winced at the wet slap of flesh hitting the ground, Astrid felt no remorse at Emory's demise. He was lucky enough to live as long as he did.

However, in a portion of the instant she was distracted, she felt a jagged blade slide between her ribs. "Now, how's about you come on a trip with me out on the briny sea, m'dear?" the voice hissed in her ear.

* * *

**A/N: **And with that, I shall endeavor to bring you the next chapter as quickly as I can! 'Til next time!


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